Page 25 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

RORY: Liars.

WELLS: I didn’t plan on serving that dish. However, I will make sure there is a good selection of other items to choose from.

WELLS: I’ll send you the address to meet and put you in a hotel not linked to my team.

RORY: Talk to you later, Killer.

Yes, you will, baby.

8

CHAPTER EIGHT

RORY

The Chicago skyline twinkles under the night sky as I sit at the rooftop restaurant, nursing a cocktail and tapping my foot impatiently.

Wells is late.

And I’m not amused to be here, especially with the risk of being spotted by anyone who might recognize him and start snapping pictures. It would be another nail in my coffin with my father and the Blizzard.

I glance around the stylish rooftop bar, the chatter of other diners blending with the soft music playing in the background. I fidget with the edge of my napkin, trying to quell the nerves that have been building since I landed in Chicago.

The truth is, I almost bailed on this trip. The idea of meeting Wells after all these games, after all the flirting and banter, felt too real, too risky.

But a deal was a deal, and I didn't want to be perceived as that woman who ghosts men. So, here I am, waiting for a man who's already running late and is the last individual on Earth I should be meeting with.

Finally, I spot him entering the bar, and I can't help but roll my eyes at his casual attire: baggy jeans, a New Brunswick Wolverine shirt—because why not wear one, right?—and a hat to hide his face as if that's going to fool anyone.

He saunters over with that cocky grin of his, and I can't deny the flutter in my stomach despite my annoyance. "Sorry, I'm late, Snowflake. Traffic was a nightmare."

I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Traffic, huh? Or were you too busy practicing your winning smile in the mirror?"

Wells chuckles, taking a seat across from me. "A bit of both, maybe. I just wanted to make sure I looked my best.”

And he does.

Anything he put on would make him look good.

He looks even better naked.

I point at his shirt. “Decided to test the waters of your disguise?”

“I’m just a fan.” Right. Because he does not look like a fan. “How was your flight?"

I shrug, not wanting to give him too much credit. "Fine. Uneventful."

He leans back, studying me with those intense eyes. "You look beautiful, by the way. Even more stunning than the last time I saw you."

I fight the urge to blush, maintaining a cool façade. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Wells."

“It got me somewhere last time.” I fight another blush, and he plucks up a menu the waitress left for us. “This place has everything. It’s my favorite.”

I could see why.

It’s trendy but not uninviting.

The bar is adorned with modern décor, featuring sleek furniture in muted gray and black tones, accented by pops of vibrant color in plush cushions and decorative artwork. Soft, ambient lighting casts a warm glow over the space, creating an inviting and relaxed atmosphere.

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